where your feet take you

bakers beach san francisco

i have a thing about feet.  i don't love them.  even my own feet, (except for the little harry potter like lighting bolt birthmark on the top of my right foot). i don't think this is just because of the hours spent in zone 3 of the san francisco general emergency room, which reeked of the feet of the homeless whose wet boots lay beside their cots, as they aired out their dawgs while waiting for an inpatient bed or their discharge paperwork.  i think i've always had a thing about feet.  so when i see a beautiful pair of feet i can't help but comment.   mike has nice feet- there is nothing embarrassing about them- they're clean and trimmed and meaty.

my brother and sister i think have great feet.  i especially dislike pale winter feet that live in socks.  their paleness showing every pressure point, by a slight change in color, or blisters or veins or callouses. tan feet are always better, especially when they've been tanned on the beach and the sand has worn them, and the nails are natural and look like little sea shells.  and i like  darker skinned feet, they hide things better.  but the poor foot- it has to carry us around all day and it doesn't get much attention.  our feet work hard- they take us everywhere.  our feet takes us where our lives take us.  they cooperate.  "where your feet take you, that is who you are".  we should tend to them. respect them.  value them.

the other day i was looking at florences feet as she walked barefoot around the house working.  feet that look older than they are because they've probably walked lifetimes carrying heavy loads.  her feet look tired, flattened in the arch, but padded and soft and leathery.  i thought about where her feet have taken her- and how many miles they've walked for her- probably with out soles to protect them, probably with out a night of sleep to rest them.  feet that have fled in the night. feet that were refugee feet once, standing all night under a tree if it rained.  feet that have carried her and many babies on her back, with other things balanced on her head.  feet that get muddy and dusty because they live in flip flops.  feet that have spent a lifetime doing other peoples work.

jesus washed feet.  he humbled himself, got on his knees and washed and dried the feet of those who followed him.  it was to show his servanthood and i don't think he judged the feet- paler, darker, cleaner, dirtier.  he just washed them.  i think it was also a symbol of his desire to care for each of them, even their yuckier parts. a God who loves each of us, as individuals, even our toes.

baby feet are a different story.  baby feet and toes are beautiful, kissable things- fresh and miraculous in their tiny detail,  unused, pure, always clean and lotioned and soft. perfect, and full of potential.

children's feet are different too.  they are cute and chubby and even though they are usually dirty, they're unworn by life.

bryn

tonight i washed my boys feet.  i scrubbed them and the bath filled with red dirt.   leaning over the tub with the washcloth, i looked at them and i loved them and felt thankful to be able to wash them.  i wondered where their feet will take them in life and how this red african dirt they're always covered in will affect that. and while it didn't feel at all like the foot washing of the last supper, i bet as Jesus washed those 12 pairs of feet, feet that belonged to people he loved and cared deeply for, he thought of where their feet had taken them, and where they 'd go and who they'd become.

the day has been long- and i'm going to go and soak my own feet now.  to thank them for taking me places and rest them so tomorrow we can begin again.